


Draugur

by greenapricot



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, Lewis Fright Fest 2016, M/M, Magical Realism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-30
Updated: 2016-10-30
Packaged: 2018-08-27 23:21:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8421523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenapricot/pseuds/greenapricot
Summary: “They’re not dragons,” James continues, filling the time with obscure facts as only he can. “Dragon is a mistranslation of the Icelandic draugur. It means ghost, not dragon. Much more appropriate if you ask me.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place sometime after Old Unhappy Far Off Things. Written for Lewis Fright Fest 2016 at the lewis_challenge LiveJournal community.
> 
> As ever, a million thanks to Jack for the beta and Britpick. All remaining mistakes are my own.

“You're not used to seeing them are you,” James says, his words punctuated by the snick of his lighter, the pop of flame, and the hiss of his inhale.

“No,” Robbie admits, turning back to his contemplation of the sea. 

“You’ll get used to it,” James says, taking another drag of his cigarette. “There were some on the estate when I was a child, in Wytham Wood, only resident population in Oxfordshire. Those were smaller, though, and not as bright. I think they prefer the sea.”

Robbie nods despite the fact that James is unlikely to be able to see the motion in the gathering dark. They, the small gently glowing figures of dragon birds, soar and wheel out over the cliff edge in the quickly darkening twilight. 

“They’re not dragons,” James continues, filling the time with obscure facts as only he can. “Dragon is a mistranslation of the Icelandic draugur. It means ghost, not dragon. Much more appropriate if you ask me.”

They do look more like ghosts than dragons, their wings almost transparent as they move, some trick of the phosphorescent light. 

The wind picks up and changes direction and Robbie shivers. A dragon bird wheels up over the cliff riding the wind, its small glowing body coming within feet of his face. He shivers again. 

“We should maybe wait in the car,” James says, tossing his cigarette aside. As if to prove his point a particularly strong gust blows in, tugging Robbie’s unbuttoned coat away from his body, letting in more of the cold. 

“I have seen them before,” Robbie says once they’re ensconced in the relative warmth of the car. Suddenly he has an irrational urge to prove to James that he also knows about dragon birds even though he doesn’t. 

James is looking at him quizzically. “Oh,” he says. 

“On holiday with Val and the kids, we went down to Devon. There were hundreds of them, the red ones. It was summer.” Most of that isn’t even true and he’s got no idea why he’s saying it. The dragon birds they saw then were the same gently glowing phosphorescent blue as these. Three had flown above their campsite one night as if they’d been putting on a show just for them. The kids had been fascinated, talked about it for weeks after; the highlight of their summer hols. 

“One followed us for the better part of the week we were there. Or it followed Mark.” That part is half true, it was the better part of an evening. 

“How close did it get to you, that one up there on the cliff?”

Robbie finds he can’t answer. James studies his face for a minute and then gets out of the car, comes around to Robbie’s side and opens the door. 

“I think it would be more comfortable in the back don’t you?” James asks. There is something almost sinister to his tone. And Robbie finds that he doesn’t. Doesn’t think it would be more comfortable in the back. Doesn’t think it would be more comfortable in the car at all. It will be hours yet before the tow truck arrives. He doesn’t want to be cooped up in a metal box that whole time. Doesn’t want to be in a metal box ever again. 

“Yes,” he says in answer to James’ question, hoping James will step out of the way so he can get out of the car. Get back over to the cliff edge and watch the dragon birds in their dance. But James’ hand grips his arm as soon as he stands, holding him vise-like, keeping him next to the metal.

“Stay here with me,” James says. 

Robbie tries to step away regardless, there are more dragon birds now, a proper flock of them. Except it’s not called a flock. Some other fanciful thing like a flock of crows is called a murder. James would know. 

James places a guiding hand on his back, turning him around, pushing him toward the back of the car and away from the cliff and the dancing. Robbie doesn’t want to watch the dancing from behind glass, he wants to stand among the dragon birds as they fly. To feel the air move as they move, to feel the wind. 

“Sir!” James is almost shouting but Robbie is right here, only a couple of steps away. There’s no need for them to be that much in each other’s pockets. Robbie turns to James to say this, to speak reason. James’ face looks strange, pinched. 

“I need you to stay with me,” James says.

That’s fine. Robbie will stay with him once he’s seen the dance. It won’t take long. Maybe he’ll even join in a little. Maybe James will dance too. 

Robbie starts toward the cliff again but James is in front of him now, blocking the way with his tall darkness. That black coat, collar up, making his body almost disappear into the night, hands grasping Robbie’s arms and holding fast. Robbie wishes he would disappear. Just get out of his way. If James doesn’t want to see the dancing, fine. He can go back to the car, but it’s not right him trying to keep Robbie from it.

“I’m not going anywhere,” James says in response to Robbie’s thoughts. But he can’t, can he? Know Robbie’s thoughts? It’s a trick. Must be a trick. James is clever, must be good at tricks. But Robbie is clever too. Cleverer than people think. Cleverer that he looks. Makes people underestimate him. Mostly that’s useful with suspects, but it makes him tired. Now it makes him tired. Dancing would get the blood flowing, raise his energy level. Warm him up.

“If you’re cold we should get back in the car,” James says, still answering his thoughts, still on about the car, still with his hands on Robbie’s arms. 

“Sir, look at me.” 

Robbie does. It’s full dark now but even in the light of the half moon Robbie can see there’s something wrong with James’ face. His eyes are too wet, mouth a hard line like he’s trying to keep something from escaping. 

“We need to get back in the car. Okay?” 

Now that he’s looking at James that doesn’t sound like the worst idea. He’s not dressed to be out in the weather for long. Gentle pressure on his arm again, James pulling him away from the cliff, toward the car. 

“It’ll be warmer out of the wind. Keep looking at me.”

Yes, Robbie thinks. I like looking at you. 

“Good,” James says, still answering his thoughts. “Just keep looking.”

So he does. Watches James’ face as he walks backward, hands still on Robbie’s arms, guiding. Leading Robbie toward the car. To the open door. 

There is a flash of phosphorescent blue behind James’ head as he helps Robbie into the back seat. That is something he also likes to look at. The dance. And he’s missing it, now mostly obscured by the car. All that metal and glass. Unnatural.

“No!” James shouts when Robbie stands and pushes past him. People underestimate him. He is not only clever, he is fast. But James is faster, catches him up and grabs his arm again. Robbie tries to wrench himself away, continue his forward motion toward the cliff but James holds tight. Robbie stops short and pivots, swings his left arm wide, fist connecting with James’ face. 

That stops him. 

James gasps and lets go of Robbie’s arm bringing his hand up to his cheek. Blood blooms dark under his fingers. 

And then Robbie is flat on his back on the ground, hard, cold, James’ warm weight on top of him. James has tackled him. Is holding him down. Leans forward and pins Robbie’s hands above his head. This must be part of the dance. Could have warned him. But it’s all right now, James is near and when Robbie tilts his head up he can see the dance; dragon birds swooping and wheeling behind him. In a minute he’ll get up and join in. 

He twists, trying to free himself but James doesn’t give an inch. Robbie’s got a couple stone on him but James is stronger than he looks. Also underestimated. Robbie underestimated.

“Sir, please,” James is pleading now. 

“It’s all right,” Robbie says. 

“You have to stay with me.”

“You can join too. We’ll join together.”

“I can’t,” James says shaking his head. That’s not right. Why couldn’t James join? “Please, sir.” James shifts, releases one of Robbie’s arms and cups Robbie’s cheek with his free hand, tilting Robbie’s head toward him and away from the show above the cliff. “Look at me. Me and nothing else.”

James is good to look at. A good thing. But there isn’t only one good thing. He could have both. He turns his head to see the other, the dance, but James brings his other hand up and holds his head firm. 

“Robert Lewis,” James breathes. “Robbie, please. I can’t lose you.”

“I’m not lost.”

“Not yet,” James says. “Not if I can help it.” And then James’ face is very close. So close Robbie can’t see it anymore and he closes his eyes. There is warmth, lips. James’ lips. James is kissing him. It’s nice. More than nice. A lot more than nice. Why have they never done this before? Why would he want to dance if he could have this?

 

He is in the back of a car. His car. James is next to him, close, leaning into him, breathing slowly—possibly asleep—his hand draped across Robbie’s knee as if it fell there. Robbie remembers that hand on his face. It’s dark and it’s cold except for where James’ body is pressed up against him. 

Robbie shifts, his shoulder uncomfortable against the door. James stirs, looks up at him with naked relief and an unguarded smile, eyes all but twinkling in the moonlight.

“Hello, sir,” he says. Robbie would be able to hear the smile in his voice even if he couldn’t see it.

There is a cut high on James’ right cheek. It has bled and then scabbed over. 

“How do you feel?” James asks. He hasn’t moved away, just twisted in the seat so that he can look at Robbie, their bodies still pressed together. 

Robbie feels like he just woke from a hundred year sleep. Like a spell has been lifted.

“Did you kiss me, sergeant?”

James nods. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t think what else to do. You were— not yourself.”

“I think—” Robbie says, the gravity of the situation catching up to him as he says it. “You may have saved my life.” 

“It was nothing,” James says, betrayed by the slight tremor in his voice. 

“It wasn't though, was it? Not to you.”

James looks ashamed. He’s misunderstood Robbie's meaning. 

“It wasn’t nothing to me either,” Robbie says and folds the hand that is still on his knee between his own. James takes this as the invitation it is and tilts his head over onto Robbie’s shoulder. 

Robbie watches James out of the corner of his eye: the slope of his shoulders, the curve of his neck, the slight twitch of his right hand where it lies awkwardly by his thigh. He feels sudden fierce affection for the lanky, awkward man by his side. This man who is always by his side; not just now in this cold car on the edge of this cliff so close to oblivion, but nearly every day for the past five years. And it feels right, in a way it surely shouldn’t, to have James leaning against him. As if something that had been missing for years has finally slotted into a place where it ought to always have been. As if somehow the lifting of the fog of compulsion has made everything else all the clearer. 

“You took quite a risk back there,” Robbie says.

James stiffens but doesn’t move away. He’s waiting for more, to know what Robbie really means before he confirms or denies, and that in and of itself is confirmation enough. 

“Thank you,” Robbie says “I’m not sure I say that enough. That I thank you enough. I don’t know where I’d be without you, lad. And not just today.” 

James’ shoulders move in what would be a shrug if he weren’t leaning so heavily into Robbie. 

“It was a calculated risk,” James says into Robbie’s neck, replying to the first statement and ignoring the second. His breath is warm, comforting.

James is giving him an out. He has revealed himself, as he has, Robbie realises, so many times before. So many small gestures of devotion brushed off as the usual business of solving a case. As if pulling an all-nighter to piece together ten-year-old photos unasked is no different to how every other sergeant behaves when their inspector thinks something isn’t right. But James isn’t going to say more. He’s already dropped it, prepared to carry on as before; the kiss easily dismissed as nothing but an effective method of breaking a spell.

“Tell me if I’m reading this wrong but, that risk. It wasn’t just me going over the cliff, was it? Would you have— If you didn’t feel— Kissed me earlier?”

James sits up, eyes searching Robbie’s face for who knows what. Signs that Robbie is taking the piss maybe?

“Are you—” James starts then brings his hand up to Robbie’s check in a echo of the motion from out on the cliff. 

Robbie nods and turns his head into James’ hand, presses a kiss to his open palm. James’ breath hisses out in a rush, a look of wonder on his face. James disentangles his other hand from Robbie’s, holds his head in both hands, and kisses Robbie with unexpected ferocity, pressing him back against the car door, making low needy noises in the back of his throat. Robbie feels overwhelmed, consumed, loved. He kisses back. And it hits him, with a sudden rush of warmth and clarity, like a bright light is shining on them, that he wants this just as much as James seems to. 

But a bright light is, in fact, shining on them. Headlights in the back window. The tow truck. They’re giving the driver quite a show. 

Robbie pulls back and James does too, looking at once amazed and terrified and a bit sheepish.

James looks down at his hands, folds them in his lap. “Sir. I’m—”

But Robbie cuts him off, not giving James a chance to backpedal, to question. 

“Later,” Robbie says, reaching out a hand to rub his thumb along James’ jaw. “Okay?” 

“Okay,” James says, and smiles. And that one simple word sounds like a promise.

____

**Author's Note:**

> Any similarity between dragon birds and actual mythical creatures is purely coincidental. I just made them up.


End file.
